


Fix You

by F_A_E_R



Category: The Da Vinci Code - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/F_A_E_R/pseuds/F_A_E_R
Summary: He shot him, now everything's lost.Silas miraculously survived and now he's confined in psychiatric ward with a sentence of five years.Manuel Aringarosa has turned his back on him, God has forsaken him, all he longs for is death and oblivion.But Matthew Leverton, the youngest psychologist in the hospital, is willing to give him back a life he never knew and he's ready to fight for the happiness and health of his first important case.With a young girl who always laughs and never shows her wrists, judgemental doctors who perceive him as a lost cause and the untiring kindness of a man who doesn't fear ghosts, in the psych ward Silas is finally given a chance to find his way.Will he grab it, or the demons will prevail?





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's been ages and I'm still mad at Dan Brown for how he mistreated Silas.  
> This is an attempt to save him and give him the happiness and love he deserved.  
> Angst at first, but fluff will come. ;)

Grey.

That day London had woken up under a grey and pale sky, like a gloomy shroud.

Nobody looked particularly surprised, since the winter had been awfully rainy, but everyone -at least with the breaking of springtime- hoped for the sun to show just a little bit through the heavy blanket of clouds which enveloped streets and skyscrapers.

If anything, temperature had increased, and Matthew Leverton could leave at home his winter coat and replace it with a lighter trench.

Unenthusiastic as every day, he leaned his head against the window of bus number twelve and looked lazily as it moved slowly through the city.

People went back and forth in the crowded streets while employees on bicycles zigzagged in haste and taxi drivers honked in annoyance.

Matthew sighed and sipped a bit of the watery Starbucks coffee he bought in front of the bus stop. He briefly thought of the night before, when his colleagues had phoned him for a sudden change of shift.

Quite a mess, since on Thursday morning he usually was in the clinic until two pm. But the head psychiatrist had been adamant and he eventually had to give up his morning session to go to the Hospital.

He didn’t like Psychiatry: one thing was dealing with people in need but still capable of reasoning; having to do with completely lost individuals, light already gone from their eyes or replaced by the glimpse of troubled mania, was something entirely different.

No, Psychiatry wasn’t all nice and quiet, and even though he always knew his job was not meant for emotional people, stepping into that ward always left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

Lunacy could be controlled, channeled, mitigated, but he knew well total healing was prerogative of rare and lucky cases.

The bus left behind Westminster Abbey; it crossed the bridge and gently slowed down approaching the next stop.

Matt sipped the last of his coffee and threw the glass in a bin, then he turned right, sneaking through the sliding doors of the hospital.

“Good morning Doctor Leverton!” a young nurse greeted him.

Matt greeted her back nodding with a kind smile and tasted the beautiful sense of respect nurses and interns always instilled in him.

They called him Doctor and looked up to him in respect, as if his Psychology Degree conferred him some strange and awesome power.

Totally absurd, of course, but he wouldn’t dislike if his Psychiatry colleagues acted the same way. Or at least if they tried to conceal the scarce opinion they had of him.

Nothing to be surprised about: actually it was quite predictable that at his young age of twenty-eight Matt was treated as a kid by the ward’s veterans. They were never barefacedly rude, after all they were Englishmen, but the eloquent stares and mocking grins they exchanged when he passed by them in the corridors were more than enough for him to need to breathe deeply not to burst.

“You’re the youngest, it’s the law. _Let us not Speak of them: look and pass on_...” he kept repeating to himself as he smiled calmly and marched towards his patients’ rooms.

To be honest, since he mainly worked at the clinic, he had just two patients in charge: an old man who had to face bankrupt and a young girl recovering from a terrible loss. They weren’t properly crazy, but the first one had developed a latent psychosis along with his depression and the latter had tried to kill herself due to the shock.

He pushed the doors with another sigh and entered the relax room of Psychiatry Ward, where the other doctors were gathered around the dining tables.

“Doctor Leverton! Finally! We were beginning to fear you got lost!”

Doctor Sanders, the old head doctor, welcomed him with an unpleasant grin.

Matthew replied with a tight smile, suppressing an insult: he didn’t feel like arguing that early in the morning.

“And here I am, eventually at your service!”

Sanders gave him a long and silent glance, and then he shifted his eyes on the other doctors, the other psychologist and two psychiatrists.

“I guess your colleagues already informed you about your next patient, but I’m confident a brief recap will surely be helpful.”

Matt sighed. He knew perfectly which kind of person he was going to deal with.

 “Your patient hasn’t yet made us the courtesy of introducing himself. He’s fresh from a shooting with the police in which an agent lost his life. He didn’t carry any document or belongings that could help identify him. The barrister required psychiatric evaluation and the albino got away with five years confined here due to his critical conditions. He got the status of _unfit to plead_.” he said disgusted.

“Albino?” asked the young psychologist, as if the juridical controversy didn’t even bother him.

After all it wasn’t the first time they had a hooligan or a murderer to take care of at the hospital. 

“You should see him, with that daemonic face he really looks like a ghost.” was the other psychologist’s comment, as he pointed at the corridor that led to isolation rooms.

“Is he down there? Is that why I never saw him?” Matthew asked, putting his glasses back on his nose.

He had heard of that story, he had heard of the Spanish Bishop who got stuck in crossfire while paying visit to the city, but he hadn’t wasted time on that. It was sad news, but he could certainly not imagine that in a couple weeks he would be working right with one of the characters involved in that obscure and unclear matter.

“We’re forced to keep him in Isolation Ward. He has violent fits towards others and even towards himself. Moreover, he refuses treatment. He takes his medicines only if previously sedated and in any case he is far from cooperative with us.” Doctor Sanders explained showing him the way to the patient’s room.

“Not an easy case altogether.” Matthew snorted and ran a hand through his short and curly brown hair.

“Why are you submitting it to me?”

It was highly unlikely they trusted him to the point of rely on him for such a problematic case.

The answer soon came with unconcealed smirks from his colleagues.

“Maybe you’ll make the miracle. You never know, Doctor Leverton…”

Great, everything was crystal clear now. None of them had the faintest intention of taking care of what they all believed to be a lost cause and whom better than the new guy to look after that pain in the neck?

His gaze followed Sanders’s hand, which was showing him the cold grey handle. He then put his fingers around the small iron key and turned it until he heard the _clack_.

“I will do my best.” he simply said before knocking twice on the door.

“I’m entering!” he announced himself.

He waited a few seconds, but no sound came from the other side of the door, so he just pushed it and went inside, making sure to close the door behind his back.

The room was small and spartan.

To the door’s left there was a small metal closet and on the right, next to a plain night-stand, there was the bed, with pale green blankets.

Matthew let his eyes roam until they met the patient’s silhouette laying under the blankets, head abandoned on the pillow and lips half-closed.

Despite the clear signs of physical and emotional suffering on his face, with sticking out cheekbones, sunken cheeks and dark circles under his eyes, the man looked young, more or less his age and a little taller than him.

The psychologist took a couple steps towards him to get to better see his face framed by short and messy hair, as fair he could have said they were almost white. He had a thin scar under his left eye and another one on the left side of his lips, both probably result of a meeting with a knife.

The stranger suddenly opened his eyes wide and Matt jolted.

What made him feel so uncomfortable? Being in the same room with a murderer? Or maybe it was because of his eyes, as pale and gaping and dry as glass shards? Those eyes looked like they could pierce his soul.

He tried to shake that awkward feeling off of him and smiled warmly.

“Good morning. My name is Matthew Leverton…” he tried.

The albino just ignored him and turned his eyes to the ceiling.

Matt waited in silence for a couple seconds, then he grabbed a chair left next to the night-stand and he sat down.

Then he saw them: belts tied the wretched man to the bed, preventing him from causing harm to himself or to others.

He did not yield and he tried again, smile still on the lips.

“I am Matthew and I will be your psychologist, if you want to undergo the therapy. What is your name?”

Silence again, again no consideration and the psychologist started to understand why his colleague had given up and ditched the case.

Working with such a person was impossible indeed! There was no way to get the therapy started if he refused to interact with the doctors!

“My colleagues told me you don’t want to introduce yourself. Is your name giving you trouble? It would be extremely helpful if I could call you by name…” he explained as softly as he could.

Then a faint whisper left the patient’s pale lips, but Matthew could not understand his words. He frowned a bit and leant over.

“Excuse me? I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you…”

Finally the man looked back at him, in his distant eyes an ancient and deep pain that got him almost overwhelmed.

“ _Soy un fantasma…_ ” he muttered in Spanish, arms muscles tensed by clenching his fists under the blankets.

He looked at the ceiling again, but now his breath was slightly irregular.

“ _Y fantasmas no tienen nombres._ ”

The psychologist wasn’t sure he had fully understood. He knew a bit of Spanish, but he was far from fluent and in any case those words had been so faint they could have been bloody easy to misunderstand.

He sighed and frowned a bit.

“Yet I’m sure you do have a name.” he simply replied, waiting for an answer.

But the answer didn’t come, just as the cerulean glance still chained to the ceiling.

“ _Soy un fantasma…_ ” he kept repeating as if he didn’t even notice the doctor sitting next to him.

A ghost, a phantom.

That’s how he perceived himself.

In front of the rest of the world, that young man thought he was mere spirit, a negligible breath of life ready to dissolve with the first westerly breeze.

Why did he think so ill of himself? And more: were those words his, or he was simply repeating what somebody else had told him before?

“I’m a ghost, and ghosts have no name”

Matt was sure about it: the albino was perfectly aware of his words and reasoning.

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.

“Well, I think it’s enough for today. There is no need to hurry…” he said.

He stood up and smiled for the umpteenth time.

“See you tomorrow then, _Ghost_!” he waved goodbye and quickly left the room, closing again the door behind his back.

Only then, when the doctor could not see him anymore, the albino turned to him.

Back in the corridor, Matt found with a certain surprise his colleagues had been waiting for him.

“So, how did it go?” was Sanders’s question.

Well, how did it go?

They were right, the patient wasn’t a bit cooperative. On the contrary, he was apathetic even though susceptible to mood swings when questioned about his past.

Still, he had the impression it wasn’t in order to protect himself he had made the vow of silence. It was because he thought he had nothing to say.

“I am a ghost.”

Those words kept whirling in his mind suggesting it was the very thing he should start to work on.

“Complete lack of self-confidence, the subject belittles himself to the point of censoring himself from this reality, as if the world had no need for him.” he considered under his breath, still shaken by the encounter.

“It’s complicated, it will require time.” he added, knowing it would have been nearly impossible to establish a connection with someone who was convincing himself he did not exist.

Sanders and the others allowed themselves some vicious smirks.

“You will have plenty of time, Leverton. After all, five years are quite a trial period!”

Matthew clenched his fists against the white cloth of his lab coat.

Why did they speak like that? Wasn’t it their job to keep neutral as far as their patients were concerned? Where did they get the right to make fun of that man when it was obvious his pain had deep and ancient roots?

Yes, it was a difficult case and there were probably no chances of healing as long as he kept avoiding connection, but was it really enough to entitle them to be so low?

He gave Sanders a long and silent look, and then he shrugged.

“I’ll make the most of it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really need a coffee.” and without even waiting for replies, he walked past them and took the stairs to the lower floor, where the vending machine awaited him.

He waited for the annoying beep to notify him the drink was ready and he collected the small glass.

The warmth and bitter taste of coffee radiated through his body chasing away, even if just for a moment, that uncomfortable feeling that had caught him as he met the nameless albino’s eyes.

Maybe his colleagues were right; he was too soft for the job.

And yet he could not help feeling a sound compassion for that stranger whose name he still ignored and whose actions already seemed to have condemned him to indifference and rejection.

An irregular ticking made him slowly walk towards the huge window facing the Thames.

The glass got beaded with raindrops, while the thin and gentle rain caressed the city.

Matthew Leverton let the umpteenth sigh escape his lips: he was already exhausted, and it was not yet ten o’ clock.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_**Writer's Corner** _

* * *

Hello everyone and thanks for reading!

This story was originally thought and written in Italian, hence the ton of mistakes xD

A couple years ago, while rewatching the Da Vinci Code, my best friend and I agreed that Silas was the most intriguing and yet the most mistreated character of the whole story. All that suffering couldn't just end that awful way and  Silas deserved some happiness.  
So here we are with "Fix You", a fanfiction that shares with the Da Vinci Code only Silas (and Aringarosa) and that attempts to develope and explore his character through his relationships with new people, both positive and negative.

The setting is a challenge to me. I know little of psychology and psychiatry but I'm quite familiar with psych ward, so I really hope to be as realistic as I can in its depiction and not to hurt anyone's sensitivity.

 

Please please please if you spot a mistake feel free to correct it, I really need to learn how to write properly in English xD

 

Thanks again

Kisses,

Koori 

 


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